


Overflow

by forlornwind



Series: Festival of Rarepairs [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Founders' Era, M/M, Slow Build, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:51:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9068452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forlornwind/pseuds/forlornwind
Summary: Tobirama is struck with a harsh flu, but the thrum of duty is not the only thing he misses.





	1. Secrets, and too many of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to [Indra's Tobirama](https://rcconteur.tumblr.com/) :)

Madara was an heir, a warrior, and a leader. Breather of fire, relentless on the battlefield, and a master of war.

But no one knows.

No one knows that his favourite flower is the lavender.

And that the private stone pool in the leader room is decorated with them. Or that he is currently resting his back on the marble banks, feeling more peaceful and at ease than he has ever been, with those royal purple petals floating about the hot waters. His hair was in an untamed but manageable twist resting on his right shoulder. Fingers card through them masterfully, messaging soap and water into each and every tress, stopping only to dab on the cinnamon bar seated in a woven basket that was treading on still waters.

It is in water where Madara is calm and his chakra is at peace. The fire storm subsides, replaced by slow, ebbing fire.

He becomes but a small lantern floating atop the water of life, reflecting whatsoever the sky shall cast down…

The flower is everywhere.

There are stalks of lavender in a vase on the grooming table, vines of flowers laced into handcrafted shelves, and a few bushes surround the bank of the private pool. The flowers are ornamental and decorative, but their aroma brings him peace. Lavender tea soothes his system as well. It would be the only thing he drinks for the rest of his life if he could help it, or if he could find a better way to reject Hashirama’s _‘wine gatherings’_.

Not that he disliked the taste of alcohol. It was just that they two were from different clans, of different traditions, and the symbolic statuses of wine wasn’t something Madara would bring out for _‘casual occasions’_. Likely, Hashirama the oaf would not understand such notions…

Red was the colour of his house and that’s what he wears over his navy robes, but Madara thinks purple and blue suit him better personally. Ah, but the world does not see him as such.

Better for them, hm.

 

-

 

The petals are gathered but not disposed of. They would be made into fertiliser soon, and returned to the earth where they once belonged. Madara’s garden will flourish upon the sacrifice of a few… others may think it gloomy, but Madara thinks it noble.

The petals are kept in a wooden box and left to dry in the sun. Madara follows a stone path that meanders through bushes of sunflowers and gazes up the best prize in his gardens for awhile _—cinnamon trees, two of them._ They pair well, their roots intertwining and bolstering each other in healthy competition. It is from these trees that he makes his cinnamon soap bars. Madara hardly buys produce that he could grow naturally, a skill he has learned and honed over the years while living as a youthful, high energy child in a time where there wasn’t much to do except for fighting and training. The Uchiha clan lacked the skills to grow things at speed with chakra alone, but their rustic wit and inward-looking mentality has proved bountiful in sustaining their clan through the Warring States Era.

As a child, Madara helps out where he could, fitting very many activities inside the strict schedule that his father had set for him. Routine soon grew to habit grew to hobby, and he carries it through to the founding of Konoha. It was good anyway, nature’s energy shielded him from the vindictive noise and cunning nature of chakra. Madara loses himself in routine sometimes, and would very much like to stay and cultivate his gardens all day long… but duty and clan beckons the honour instilled in him. A calling he was born into and.. well, routine grows to habit.

 

-

 

Madara makes sure there are no fallen leaves on his robes when he exits the main house area and into the rest of the Uchiha compound. Immediately the buzzing and fussing of the morning greets him with familiarity and fondness. That only happens when he ignores the disdainful looks most of the members give him, which is always. They can hate him all they want **(** _or defect_ **)** but that hate will not make him bow the clan to every Senju whim.

They did not know what he had to go through to get as big a space for the clan, or even just to keep some of their traditions was a tough fight. Especially when he was outnumbered every council meeting and every mouth sought to tear him away from the _‘Hokage’s good graces’_.

If they knew his fights, perhaps they might start giving him presents.

To have his own clan members start _liking_ him over Hashirama… Well, he can’t have that now can he?

Hikaku walks over to him, a strand of white ribbon prominently dangling from brown fringe.

      “Madara-sama, would you be having the first meal in the main eating house this morning?”

Every day, Hikaku sounds as hopeful as he did three months ago.

 

-

 

Rarely does Tobirama take an off day. The village was still in construction and many, many things needed to be done. His brother was not the best at hurrying things up, especially if these things were paperwork. However, he was hit with a harsh flu this morning, and the end-of-year winter was not helping the chill already set deep in his bones.

But of all the times he wished for his brother to be here, Hashirama was not. The Senju elder had given certain instructions to the servants, prepared a fresh pot of tea, and transferred over thick blankets for Tobirama, then went off to start the day at the Hokage’s building.

What an idiot his brother was, Tobirama thinks. Had Hashirama been born a sensor like Tobirama, perhaps he could have felt Tobirama’s sickly longing for warmth and affection.

But his brother was not like that. Hashirama would sooner choose the village despite his misgivings in the paperwork department. Tobirama’s frequent words of _‘You should focus on your duty, brother!’_ whenever Hashirama was distracted, may have pushed his brother off as well. But that’s only when Hashirama was distracted during _official hours_.

When Hashirama was truly sick, Tobirama had excused the elder’s behaviours and sent him home as well… so why couldn’t Hashirama be there for Tobirama this time?

His train of thoughts gave him a headache as he tried to justify his brother’s behaviour… but it all boiled down to Hashirama’s sore lack of sense, Tobirama concluded. Hashirama was a man who always moved forward, rarely reflecting on the intricacies between life and duty. Prosperity of the village would always be priority for Hashirama, it seems.

At least the pot of tea was piping hot by his bedside, and downing it seared his throat and provided what warmth it could for a few moments.

Here, Tobirama recounts another type of warmth that resonated within him. The only type of warmth that melted the glacier he had for a heart.

_Madara._

Oh, that name brought up many, many memories for Tobirama. The most significant one being their first meet at the river confrontation. Never had he felt such fierce love for one’s family **(** _which was sad, considering how the Senju clan were renown for being a clan of love_ **)** but Madara’s flaming ire when he chose his clan over Hashirama’s ideals, had left an imprint on Tobirama since the mere age of 10. It was a love he wanted to feel from his own brother, a love that… unfortunately, was never granted to him by anyone other than Itama and Kawarama. Then he had grown up, and stowed those feelings away. He hoarded it, and basked in the memories of it whenever he was alone with his senses.

The second time, was when Tobirama killed Izuna. Madara’s fire was tattered, used, and worn then, but still brightly did it burn when Izuna was struck with Tobirama’s sword. He does not regret the kill, not really. It was what needed to be done. It was either him or Izuna. What choice was there, really?

When the village was finally founded, he had thought that Madara would come at him with all fierceness of passion and love for the clan and aggression. To blame him and insult him for Izuna’s death… but the Uchiha leader did not. Instead, all Tobirama got was a cold, stinging fire. Madara tried to avoid Tobirama like he was the plague, never stayed more than a second after official business was done despite Hashirama’s insistence for them to get along. For the first time since his brother left him for that river, Tobirama felt neglected again. It was wrong and disgusting for him to feel this way, but all he really wanted was any warmth that Madara would give… even if it was a violent fire storm. It was more than what Hashirama would ever spare him…

Perhaps the cold, stinging fire was all Tobirama deserved. He _did_ cut down Izuna, yet got no punishment for it. This cold shoulder was his punishment, and soon enough, Tobirama learned to take whatever Madara deigned to give. His spite, his brief but harsh criticism, his resistance towards staying a second longer after meetings were done, and his annoyance at Hashirama’s antics. Tobirama learned to hoard and keep these little little embers.

It was better than nothing.

It also left him missing, and wanting the passion that he knew Uchiha Madara was capable of.

For that to happen, they would have to talk about Izuna.

It was hard not to, when the stone cold grief was rooted in place every time Tobirama was in the room. It was a blockage, and Tobirama much preferred the roaring hearth he felt on the battlefields than skirting, careful, frustrated embers. Those seem to withhold Madara’s tongue in discussions.

 **(** _although, those embers told Tobirama that someone had their eyes on him… and it filled him with a sort of joy, though for a different reason than most would suppose._ **)**

For a while, Tobirama had wondered if Madara would stop being aware of him after they talked about Izuna. He wondered if giving Madara some form of closure meant that he himself had to give up the attention, however hostile, that Uchiha Madara had apportioned to him.

To his surprise --and fortunately-- the exact opposite had happened.

Gradually, Tobirama began to feel Madara gravitating towards him. Perhaps it was because Tobirama gave Madara more of an ear; where Hashirama would likely brush off his concerns or shout about how _‘Madara should relax!’_. Their political and village discussions have increased, so did casual meals of fish and tea, although they rarely talked about anything other than work… and now, stuck in his bed and under heavy wool blankets, Tobirama misses the warmth more than he allowed himself to admit. It’s a secret he keeps deep within icy, chilly, mass of ocean. The same place where he kept each and every one of Madara’s furtive glares, angry insults, exasperated calls for help when Hashirama was being annoying, and the very rare times Madara offered a piece of personal information…

Madara likes sushi and fish as much as Tobirama does. Madara likes children, too, and Tobirama suspects that they were the only things keeping the Uchiha patriarch in the village. Madara’s chakra has a distinctive flare of war drums when he was trying to keep his words peaceful in front of biased councillors. Tobirama never calls Madara out on it, he knows that Madara was just trying his best while **not lying**. Hashirama, on the other hand, gets significantly upset when he thinks Madara was _‘out of line with that one comment’_.

Ah, **that’s** one of the things that Tobirama notices, too. Madara never lies and never makes hasty promises.

Madara keeps his words close to his heart, and perhaps Tobirama was proud that he understood Madara more than Hashirama ever could. Again, this is not an information he shares with anyone.

The man was a treasure trove, his honesty shone like gold, and Tobirama…. well, Tobirama was someone with many secrets. And he doesn’t think that someone like Madara, or anyone really, would ever choose him over Hashirama.

His brother was charismatic, joyful, boisterous, high energy that could match the hidden passion of the Uchiha clan. Hashirama was everything he was not —heir, leader, _Madara’s best friend_.

…

When did _that term_ get there.

Tobirama sighs and lets out a frustrated breath, and shrugs out of these thick blankets that did nothing to keep out the chill in his bones. He reaches for a pot of tea… that has gone cold.

It’s another sigh as he sits up, resting himself against the ornate headrest. He had _so_ much free time ahead of him, and he stares longingly at the pile of books that had sent him into a thoughtful sleep last night. They sat strewn on the table way too far out of reach and he has not the energy to reach them. Not with his aching, chilling bones could he walk those few metres.

One of those books was about the traditional foods of the Uchiha Clan. It took Tobirama a good week to coax it from Madara’s hands because the elder had been writing new recipes in it due to the coming of a certain festival. What festival exactly, Tobirama’s flu was preventing him from remembering right this moment, but he is hopeful that it would come back to him. With regards to the book, it would not be the last time he told Uchiha Madara that not everything needed to be perfect.

Madara was an honest man, but kept many things to himself. Not the type of secrets that Tobirama has, but personal failures and sentiments _—_ _these, Madara keeps very close to his heart._ But being a strong sensor had its perks as Tobirama could easily pick out all the things that Madara did not wish to say. It’s why Tobirama always tries to stir Madara away from Hashirama inch by inch, subtly. He knows that Madara only _tolerates_ Hashirama’s antics while his brother thinks he was being very funny.

Perhaps, in this hand written book, Tobirama could pick out more things personal to the Uchiha. Why else would he want anything to do with the Uchiha clan, if not for the hearth that was Madara? He was the only fire that could burn strongly all winter…

Winter…

      “Ah! That’s it!”

Tobirama nigh yelps into the air as his body suddenly jerks forward at his realisation. He was hit with a piece of memory _—today was the Winter Solstice!_

A dizziness comes into his head at the sudden movement, and Tobirama grabbed at the bridge of his nose, trying and willing for the information to stay in his head and not to float away. No, this flu might get him out of work, but it will not make him forget why he borrowed Madara’s book in the first place!

He swings his legs out of the bed and tries to stand abruptly, but his chest fights him back, sending him into a coughing, spluttering fit and he misses the little creeping fire now swirling in his perception. He sees stars for awhile before he re-orients his senses.

Damn this flu. It messed with his sensory perception and it took all of his effort to open a familiar map in his brain, just beginning to register all familiar chakras within the Senju Estate.

      “Tobirama-sama?”

There’s two knocks on the door to his room. They were soft to any other ears, but to Tobirama, they were loud and jarring, making him plop onto his bed again. He shuts down his chakra senses for the moment, the noise and buzzing of the morning proving too much for his sickness to hold.

Ah, he should answer the servant. They may be here to bring him some food, or to refill the tea.

Hopefully it’s food. But… Tobirama wishes to be weak and useless for awhile more. His mind was torn between not wanting to show himself and wanting food…

Honestly, his mind was just torn.

      “Madara-sama requests for your presence.”

“What..?” Tobirama whispers to himself, falling to his side and resting his aching brain on his pillow. “That doesn’t sound like food…”

      “If you want food, Tobirama, I have them with me.”

Oh goodness gracious! It was really Madara!! That was the creeping fire he picked out just now… Ah, Madara must have suppressed his chakra so as not to overwhelm him…

       “Did my brother tell you— Tsk. I’m sure he did.”

Madara comes in, his footsteps soft and the only noise heard was the shuffle of doors closing. How did such a passionate man manage to be so quiet? _Say something…_

      “He did, and I was rather furious. Though, I’m sure you did not sense my blazing rage looking at how pitifully pale and tattered you are. I was looking for you all morning.”

At this distance, Tobirama could easily feel Madara’s warmth even if both of them were suppressing their chakras for different reasons.

He hates that Madara was so kind, because Tobirama himself was not capable of such kindness. It’s one more reason why Tobirama thinks Madara would never choose him over Hashirama.

      “You were… looking for me... hm.”

He should feel happy about that since he has been thinking about Madara almost all morning too... But as Tobirama releases the pressure on the dam and let his oceans seep out, he felt the air of business around Madara.

      “That’s not what you should focus on.”

 _‘For now, maybe.’_ thought Tobirama as he tries to sit up, but only manages to slide the pillow together with himself and lean the side of his body against the head rest. His eyes, droopy and only willpower kept them open, followed Madara as the elder placed a bento box in his hands, and tried to position Tobirama better so that he could at least eat without making a mess of himself. Tobirama begins to feel the thrumming of seething anger from Madara, though the other was wordless. He frowns, and that buzzing energy makes him sit up better, edging towards the wall so that he didn’t give his neck too much strain, but still being able to lean on the upright pillow should his body fail him.

Madara pushes the bedside table until wood touched wood, and gives a feel of the teapot. He looks at Tobirama questioningly and was answered with a casual wave of a pale hand.

      “I always knew you were sloppy, but not _this_ sloppy.”

Tobirama rolls his eyes. ‘ _I’m sick,’_ they said.

When Madara took the teapot and almost left with it, Tobirama’s chakra had flared a little, ocean water spraying and spluttering at flames. Madara caught the notion immediately and came to sit by Tobirama’s side, the teapot now cradled within his hands. If he couldn’t get a fresh pot, then at least he’ll warm it up by running his fire release around the ceramic.

That’s when Tobirama couldn’t take it anymore. His mind kept focusing on the burning hearth that was Madara, but something about it was preventing the passion from flowing. In its place was hot metal tainting what should be pure, blazing fire. Tobirama decided to be straightforward about it.

      “Madara-san, you’re angry. You don’t have to suppress it just because I’m sick, please.”

No matter how much Madara tried to keep to himself, he was still such an open book with the way his whole face would reflect how he’s really feeling. Especially now as he directed the anger at the teapot. Hashirama would have found it cute and amusing, but Tobirama felt the full heat wave this close.

Madara was seething with rage, and both men knew why.

      “I’m angry, too.” _and hurt, and lonely, and I need you to stop._

      “You mask it **very** well.”

One more thing that he notices about Madara, was that the man is a mirror. And that Madara doesn’t like hidden secrets. Madara likes to pay people back for what they’d done, too.

So he was repaying Tobirama’s mask with his own. Except, Madara wasn’t as good as Tobirama was.

Just give Madara a little bit more time, he thinks, and the mirror will crack. So he holds the bento in his hands, looking down at it, unwilling to meet Madara’s eyes.

Then he feels it, he feels the hot metallic rage banging.

      “How could your brother be like this?” Madara asks the questions that he did not want to humiliate Hashirama with, out of sheer disbelief. “He told me of your condition and moved not out of his Hokage seat. _‘I will send your enquiries to Tobirama later.’_ he said, and didn’t even add a _‘when he is well enough.’_ Why is your brother like this? He has chang— I feel that I have misjudged him.”

      “Stop…” _I get it._

      “Yea— I’m sorry. It’s just… I— _I will fuck him up_ , Tobirama.”

When Madara loses his grace, he loses his wits, too. That’s another thing Tobirama has come to learn about him. “Stop.” he repeats.

      “Stop what? You’re the one who said not to—”

      “Stop being so kind!”

That stumps Madara and he shuts his mouth immediately when he felt the roar of oceans coming undone. Nothing escapes him in this moment as he catches Tobirama’s trimmed nails clawing against the bento box. The younger also coughs a little from that short yelling.

A pale hand finally puts the bento on the bedside table that Madara had pushed over, then rose to rub his crimson eyes. “I wanted..” little by little, droplets of ocean and seasalt manifest, “I wanted him here… too. Okay?” Tobirama leans closer just as Madara puts away the tea pot to catch the Senju in his arms. “I wanted him to shirk his work for once… for once…”

Madara’s navy robes become damp at the collar by the second. He was silent and focused on cooling his anger so that Tobirama could let go of his own frustrations. Where Hashirama swept things under the rug, the two sensors remembered and hoarded their grievances. His hands smoothed down Tobirama’s trembling back as the younger Senju sobbed quietly. “I’m here…” Madara cooed, and at the same time he raised his body temperature to counter the chill that Hashirama, the flu, and the winter had left.

Tobirama’s stomach growled in that moment, making both men rumble with laughter.

      “Are you okay now?” Madara asked. “Time to eat, I think.” He leaves his statement hanging as a half-question. He was never forceful.

      “I am…” answers Tobirama as he sniffs one last time. “Are you okay?” he pulls away but leaves a hand by Madara’s hip.

      “Yes.”

Madara stretches for the bento box and set it in Tobirama’s hands again. Or hand. But he soon takes Tobirama’s arm around his hip away so that the younger could eat. He wasn’t going anywhere. How could he leave Tobirama alone when he was sick like this? Madara reassured by putting an arm around Tobirama’s shoulder, gripping a little, and keeping his temperature steadily high to warm the Senju up.

As Tobirama seemed to admire the bento box’s cover, Madara poured a cup of hot tea. From the aroma of it, green tea.

      “Your lips are dry, drink up.”

Tobirama obeys and takes the cup from Madara’s hands. He downs it right away, feeling the familiar sear of his throat, but doesn’t put the cup away once he was done. Instead, he sighs.

      “Why am I such a child when I’m with you?”

It’s supposed to be a tease, but Madara takes it seriously.

      “Because you’re a younger brother, Tobirama.” Madara answers with ease, speaking the words that Tobirama has so long suppressed, and takes the cup away to set it beside the teapot again. “You’re **allowed** to be a child.” _don’t let the lack of a childhood tell you otherwise._

In that moment, Tobirama wonders how everything would have been different had he been born in the Uchiha clan… but then again, he could have been at the mercy of hatred and cut down like Izuna did… then someone _else_ would be on the receiving end of Madara’s kindness.

No.

Tobirama doesn’t want to have been born into the Uchiha clan. This moment right here is the time he wants to be a Senju. To experience Madara’s hate, anger, and love. Tobirama hoards these feelings, drowns in them when he was alone with himself, and slowly comes to resent anyone who received even an ounce of Madara’s attention.

These were keepsakes that Hashirama never gave to him even when they were mere children. These, he hoards, and is willing to take whatever Madara wants to give.

Tobirama opens the bento box slowly, setting the cover down on the bedside table. He feels at home with Madara, from the warm, ebbing, caring torch, to this bento of Inarizushi, Tuna, and seaweed rolls, he feels more at home than he’s ever been in the Senju Estate.

      “This bento looks like it is for Uchiha Madara.”

      “Hm. Would you like to give it to him personally, then?”

      “Nope.” then Tobirama looks up from the bento for awhile, and notices that Madara was drinking the hot tea from his cup. “That’s—”

      “There is only one cup, Tobirama. You eat my food, I drink your tea.”

Tobirama could kiss him. He could. But he settles for the chopsticks in the bento box instead.

 

-

 

A servant comes to his room after awhile. Tobirama hands over the tea pot and bento box to be washed “Get us a fresh pot of lavender tea, please.” he whispers, then closes the doors and slowly limps towards the bed again. There was going to be lots of sitting down today, it seems. He lets out a breath, the few steps taken all of him. Madara was hovering over his desk and he pouts unseen, wondering if he could magnetise the warmth back to his side.

 

But wait.

 

Madara was hovering over his desk.

 

Madara…

 

… is showing his back to Tobirama.

Oh goodness! He sits up immediately and wipes the pout from his lips, feeling utterly guilty for having such selfish thoughts when the man was right there, showing him the most vulnerable part of himself that Madara only trusts Hashirama with.

If Tobirama wasn’t alert before, he certainly was now.

He stares.

Tobirama stares at how those wavy, curly, spiky, untamed curls fall over Madara’s back. How the tresses dance lightly, from the spikier top to the soft ends that swayed so freely. Madara’s hair was literally black fire incarnate, he thinks. Tobirama allows himself a thin smile as he watches Madara’s busy hands going about the desk.

It was a bad idea to leave his books a mess. Madara was compelled… no, attracted, to mess. A great duty befalls the Uchiha to straighten things.

      “It’s just five books, Madara-san…” whined Tobirama. _Come back here…_

      “Six, actually.”

Madara replies shortly after picking a book on mythical beasts and half-ran back to Tobirama’s side. The Senju’s smile widens a little only to fall again when Madara goes to open the door. Right, the servant came back with a tray holding a tea pot and two cups. Tobirama was in no mood to utilise his sensory perception outside of his immediate vicinity, which means Madara better come back to his side or else—

The elder has a contemplative look on his face, and Tobirama remembers then. He had asked for lavender tea, and he wonders if—

      “How did you know? I don’t think my chakra could tell you what kind of tea I liked.”

Madara walks and sits beside him, the question sounding extremely interrogative for a moment, and there was a distinct flare in Madara’s hearth that matched Tobirama’s _‘Madara is suspicious.’_ label.

      “Well? You wanted to surprise me. You did.” Madara raises his brows and gives Tobirama a look that said he wanted answers. “Out with it.”

Madara didn’t like others to know what he hasn’t told them yet. This is, again, something Tobirama notices but keeps to himself… and yet it slipped out at the worst of times. He was sick with the flu and really did not want Madara walking out on him…

How could Tobirama tell him that he had a map of the Uchiha clan site in his head? And that every morning, he traces Madara’s devilish chakra all through the compound, following each and every one of Madara’s movements?

 **(** _Tobirama loves to sleep, but he wakes at 6am every morning just to do this._ **)**

How could Tobirama tell him that he knew Madara liked to take the same path through his gardens, and linger at the same spot where two cinnamon trees stood? And linger for exactly five minutes?

How could Tobirama tell him that he knew Madara used cinnamon soap bars, and have lavender petals somewhere probably, because there was that one time when Madara didn’t walk through the gardens, and so was missing the faint whiff of Sunflower on his shoulders? And that the cinnamon aroma in Madara’s hair was too mouth-watering for him to be using any other type of soap bars?

This… was all going to crash down on him so badly. This disgusting, stalkerish, and execution-worthy behaviour…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog on Tumblr](http://forlornwind.tumblr.com/post/154989060645/overflow-part-1) | [All FanFiction](http://forlornwind.tumblr.com/listing)
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please any feedback is welcomed. I stopped it here because Tobirama refused to speak any more. I may write a sequel, I may not, because I also feel like this is the part where Madara finds out Tobirama has more than platonic feelings for him, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge that. But he doesn’t want to lie either, so.... I really did not plan for this to end this way, but Tobirama kinda got outta hand...
> 
> Tbh, discussions between sensors dance on the edge of a knife...on one hand, there is "You know I know you're lying." and on the other hand, there is "This is too embarassing for me to say, but yet my chakra can't reflect this information, so I have to say it."
> 
> I have to consider very carefully how to continue from here, because I initially wanted for TobiMada to attend the Uchiha Clan Winter Solstice Festival together.


	2. Like brother, like brother.

The blush settles on Tobirama’s cheeks as Madara poured himself a cup of lavender tea. The pot returns to the bedside table as Tobirama speaks. The blush would tell Madara that Tobirama was embarrassed. But to Tobirama, this blush meant that he was afraid of looking like a disgusting stalker.

 _If beauty was in the eye of the beholder, then…_ let Madara perceive what he will. Tobirama was not ready to admit anything else.

      “Your being carry the faint whiff of lavender on most days… I have a very keen nose.”

      “Hmm.” Madara contemplates again, swirling the remaining sip of tea in the cup.

Tobirama decides in that very moment, a contemplative Madara was dangerous, and a state to be afraid of. That kind of look one only gets when planning a kill, or maneuvering a mission, _leveling a country_ — It’s not a face he wants the Uchiha to have. He wants Madara to be at ease.

      “I have some cinnamon sticks in the cupboard, if you’d like…?”

The sea remains calm, a gravity holding his part of the story together. That little information seemed to relax Madara’s face, and Tobirama could see the pieces of puzzle fitting together. He felt too the fragmented embers coming together again. Tobirama’s heartbeat stabilizes as Madara smiled back at him.

      “That won’t be needed. It’s true, I do like lavender very much.”

The iceberg breathes a very silent sigh of relief.

Tobirama takes the little cup in Madara’s hands, the food **(** _and Madara’s warm presence_ **)** afforded the simple gesture of refilling the tea. “Well… What did you want to speak to me about?” _that you couldn’t tell my brother_ , the silent comment unspoken.

Madara casts an assessing glance at Tobirama, eyes looking questioningly, asking if Tobirama was indeed well enough for a heavy discussion. Tobirama responded to that by clearing his throat and sitting up straighter, showing that he was indeed ready. Tobirama knew, that if it wasn’t an urgent matter, Madara would have rejected his inquiry immediately. It must be something that weighed on Madara’s heart for the elder to hesitate about _not_ talking about it. “Shoot.”

And Madara does, starting by putting both hands on the book he had brought over from Tobirama’s newly straightened table. The Uchiha had a pension of holding close something when he had gotten his hands on it, even if that thing wasn’t his in the first place. Tobirama had a taste of it when Hashirama had first gotten the three of them to eat together in a restaurant. When Madara’s bento arrived at the table, the Uchiha sat as close to the table as he could, as if protecting his bento from potential thieves. It was a very homely sight, like a Lion protecting its cub from another’s prying hands. Madara liked to lean on the table with one elbow supporting his head. Only in casual places did he portray as a relaxed Alpha.

      “...Hashirama is going too fast, he doesn’t notice these things. I do, and I’m sure you can, too, if you focused hard enough.”

Ah, Madara has ended his speech. It was Tobirama’s turn.

      “As we know very well, my brother does not like to interfere with the intricacies of another clan.”

      “But they hurt the citizens of the village.”

       “Some. Specifically their younger branch members. I will look into the resources allocated to the Hyuuga, and implement tighter controls on public structures. But if they have the will to hide something from the masses, you know that it’s not impossible for them.”

 _Children_ were always on Madara’s mind. The well-being of children in Konohagakure and the grooming of the next generation. Tobirama half wonders if ‘children’ were part of _their_ dream, because Madara is a traditional man that liked his roots, and the two of them did have this dream as a child.

Hashirama did not tell Tobirama about the encounters with Madara by the river, but Tobirama is slowly learning something about the boy that Hashirama knew.

      “You have to put a stop to these diplomats he is sending out to other new villages.”

The childish anger that would come out.

      “He can’t control everything. He can't even control _some_ clans in his own village.”

The open, concise thoughts, and micro managing. Madara must have been a very meticulous elder brother.

      “We should just oust the Hyuuga clan. They don’t deserve the security.”

      “They will just take their practices somewhere else.”

_Then who would save their children?_

The question hanging in the air between them was not spoken. Uncertainty punctuated Madara’s furrowed brows, and he looked like a lost boy who worried about the fate of the world, worried about when the skies would fall and crush every fibre of this earth they lived on. How **even** did Hashirama get this _prophet of doom_ to settle for his incomplete, toy village?

Perhaps it was not only Hashirama **(** _as his elder brother always liked to think.._ **)** but the combined gravity of a failing era that pulled the Star down to earth. In front of Tobirama sat a most bright human being, a complex individual who sought for simple perfections. Yet perfection could never be simple, no matter how long Madara dreams. But that was who Madara was— _a walking contradiction that cannot be easily fathomed_.

In this very moment, Tobirama craves to know everything about Madara. Really, really, **_craves_ **.

Like the ocean that sought to swallow everything it could touch, Tobirama laid a hand over Madara’s own that still held the book in his lap. Tobirama makes a mistake.

Tobirama makes a steadfast promise.

      “I will not allow him to ally other villages until our own is settled.”

Madara’s brows slowly ease into one of admiration. _This must be how he looked at Hashirama as a child_ , the thought flies through Tobirama’s mind. _This must be how Hashirama won him over._

      “Are you sure?”

      “I—” _I’ll try_ , is what he should say to salvage any future consequences. “I’m sure.” is what comes out of his mouth.

 

Mortals, how foolish. Do you think the skies revolve around you?

 

Stars were made to _be revolved_ around.

 

Just look at the Sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally decided to continue this fic!! I will post shorter chapters so that I don't get too overwhelmed. I hope you guys liked this!! Any feedback is welcomed!
> 
> Also, what do you guys think of a Discord server dedicated to WSE /Founder's stuff? Let me know! I'm really interested to host one where we can discuss all the gritty goodness!


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